didn't."
"What about Spiller?" Homily went on.
"What about him?"
"He'll never find us now."
"Why not?" said Pod. "He'll see the kettle's gone. As far as Spiller's concerned, all we've got to do is bide our time, wait quietly—wherever we happen to fetch up."
"Suppose we don't fetch up and go on past Little Fordham?"
"Spiller'll come on past looking for us."
"Suppose we fetch up amongst all those people...?"
"What people?" asked Pod a trifle wearily. "The plaster ones?"
"No, those human beings who swarm about on the paths..."
"Now, Homily," said Pod, "no good meeting trouble halfway."
"Trouble?" exclaimed Homily. "What are we in now, I'd like to know?" She glanced down past her knees at the sodden straw below. "And I suppose this kettle'll fill up in no time..."
"Not with the cork swollen up like it is," said Pod. "The wetter it gets, the tighter it holds. All you got to do, Homily, is to sit there and hold on tight; and, say, we come near land, get yourself ready to jump." As he spoke, he was busy making a grappling hook out of his hatpin, twisting and knotting a length of twine about the head of the pin.
Arrietty, meanwhile, lay flat on her stomach gazing into the water below. She was perfectly happy: the cracked enamel was warm from the sun and with one elbow crooked round the base of the handle she felt curiously safe. Once in the turgid water she saw the ghostly outline of a large fish, fanning its shadowy fins and standing backwards against the current. Sometimes there were little forests of water weeds, where blackish minnows flicked and darted. Once a water rat swam swiftly past the kettle, almost under her nose: she called out then excitedly—as though she had seen a whale. Even Homily craned over to watch it pass, admiring the tiny air bubbles that clung like moonstones among the misted fur. They all stood up to watch it climb out on the bank and shake itself hurriedly into a cloud of spray before it scampered away into the grasses. "Well I never," remarked Homily. "...natural history," she added reflectively.
Then, raising her eyes, she saw the cow. It stood quite motionless above its own vast shadow, hock deep and silent in the fragrant mud. Homily stared aghast and even Arrietty felt grateful for a smoothly floating kettle and a stretch of water between. Almost impertinently safe
she felt—so near and yet so far—until a sudden eddy in the current swung them in toward the bank.
"It's all right," called Pod as Arrietty started back. "It won't hurt you...."
"Oh, my goodness..." exclaimed Homily, making as though to climb down inside the rim. The kettle lurched.
"Steady," cried Pod, alarmed, "keep her trimmed!" And, as the kettle slid swiftly shoreward, he flung his weight sideways, leaning out from the handle. "Stand by..." he shouted as with a vicious twist they veered round sharply, gliding against the mud. "Hold fast!" The great cow backed two paces as they careered up under her nose. She lowered her head and swayed slightly as though embarrassed, and then, sniffing the air, she clumsily backed again.
The kettle teetered against the walls and craters of the cow tracks, pressed by the current's flow; a faint vibration of drumming water quivered through the iron. Then Pod, leaning outwards, clinging with one hand to the rim, shoved his hatpin against a stone; the kettle bounced slightly, turning into the current, and, in a series of bumps and quivers, began to turn away.
"Thank goodness for that, Pod..." cried Homily, "thank goodness ... thank goodness ... oh my, oh my, oh my!" She sat clinging to the base of the handle, white-faced and shaking.
"It would never hurt you," said Pod as they glided out to midstream, "not a cow wouldn't..."
"Might tread on us," gasped Homily.
"Not once it's seen you, it wouldn't."
"And it did see us," cried Arrietty gazing backward. "It's looking at us still..."
Watching the cow, relaxed and relieved, they were none of them prepared for the bump. Homily,
"What about Spiller?" Homily went on.
"What about him?"
"He'll never find us now."
"Why not?" said Pod. "He'll see the kettle's gone. As far as Spiller's concerned, all we've got to do is bide our time, wait quietly—wherever we happen to fetch up."
"Suppose we don't fetch up and go on past Little Fordham?"
"Spiller'll come on past looking for us."
"Suppose we fetch up amongst all those people...?"
"What people?" asked Pod a trifle wearily. "The plaster ones?"
"No, those human beings who swarm about on the paths..."
"Now, Homily," said Pod, "no good meeting trouble halfway."
"Trouble?" exclaimed Homily. "What are we in now, I'd like to know?" She glanced down past her knees at the sodden straw below. "And I suppose this kettle'll fill up in no time..."
"Not with the cork swollen up like it is," said Pod. "The wetter it gets, the tighter it holds. All you got to do, Homily, is to sit there and hold on tight; and, say, we come near land, get yourself ready to jump." As he spoke, he was busy making a grappling hook out of his hatpin, twisting and knotting a length of twine about the head of the pin.
Arrietty, meanwhile, lay flat on her stomach gazing into the water below. She was perfectly happy: the cracked enamel was warm from the sun and with one elbow crooked round the base of the handle she felt curiously safe. Once in the turgid water she saw the ghostly outline of a large fish, fanning its shadowy fins and standing backwards against the current. Sometimes there were little forests of water weeds, where blackish minnows flicked and darted. Once a water rat swam swiftly past the kettle, almost under her nose: she called out then excitedly—as though she had seen a whale. Even Homily craned over to watch it pass, admiring the tiny air bubbles that clung like moonstones among the misted fur. They all stood up to watch it climb out on the bank and shake itself hurriedly into a cloud of spray before it scampered away into the grasses. "Well I never," remarked Homily. "...natural history," she added reflectively.
Then, raising her eyes, she saw the cow. It stood quite motionless above its own vast shadow, hock deep and silent in the fragrant mud. Homily stared aghast and even Arrietty felt grateful for a smoothly floating kettle and a stretch of water between. Almost impertinently safe
she felt—so near and yet so far—until a sudden eddy in the current swung them in toward the bank.
"It's all right," called Pod as Arrietty started back. "It won't hurt you...."
"Oh, my goodness..." exclaimed Homily, making as though to climb down inside the rim. The kettle lurched.
"Steady," cried Pod, alarmed, "keep her trimmed!" And, as the kettle slid swiftly shoreward, he flung his weight sideways, leaning out from the handle. "Stand by..." he shouted as with a vicious twist they veered round sharply, gliding against the mud. "Hold fast!" The great cow backed two paces as they careered up under her nose. She lowered her head and swayed slightly as though embarrassed, and then, sniffing the air, she clumsily backed again.
The kettle teetered against the walls and craters of the cow tracks, pressed by the current's flow; a faint vibration of drumming water quivered through the iron. Then Pod, leaning outwards, clinging with one hand to the rim, shoved his hatpin against a stone; the kettle bounced slightly, turning into the current, and, in a series of bumps and quivers, began to turn away.
"Thank goodness for that, Pod..." cried Homily, "thank goodness ... thank goodness ... oh my, oh my, oh my!" She sat clinging to the base of the handle, white-faced and shaking.
"It would never hurt you," said Pod as they glided out to midstream, "not a cow wouldn't..."
"Might tread on us," gasped Homily.
"Not once it's seen you, it wouldn't."
"And it did see us," cried Arrietty gazing backward. "It's looking at us still..."
Watching the cow, relaxed and relieved, they were none of them prepared for the bump. Homily,
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